


To the Edge of Forever

by AconitumNapellus



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:50:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3607362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AconitumNapellus/pseuds/AconitumNapellus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the episode City on the Edge of Forever, Jim tries to understand his feelings for Edith Keeler and ends up falling into Spock's arms. This is a rather bittersweet story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Edge of Forever

It was chilly in New York at this time of year. Jim wouldn’t go as far as to say it was cold, but he knew that Spock found it unpleasantly cold. For Jim it was coat-wearing weather, but it was fine and clear most days and even when he was working inside he felt a kind of joy from the brightness outside, despite the aching in his hands and arms and the kinks in his back.

He wasn’t used to this kind of work, and it tired him. He hated to admit it, but sitting in the captain’s chair on the bridge didn’t stretch him much physically, and although he worked out he hadn’t done this kind of hours-long drudgery since he was a teenager with a weekend job. Then, he had been slimmer, fitter, and had much more energy.

He walked back from a trawlaround the local shops with a paper bag under one arm, hoping that Spock would approve of the fare inside. It was hard finding good, nourishing food for a Vulcan in this place and this era. Jim himself was quite happy to subsist on bread and bologna, although Bones would be horrified at the saturated fats...

Bones... Sometimes he could forget exactly why he and Spock were trapped in this primitive and hardship-filled era of Earth’s history; when he was walking with Edith by the river or standing on a street corner marvelling at this unparalleled opportunity to experience a living history before man had even reached out beyond Earth’s atmosphere. Then he remembered Bones, his panicked, cordrazine-mottled face, and whatever he had done here on Earth that wiped out their entire future.

What would happen, he wondered, if he just forgot it all? If he said _to hell with it_ and settled down here on Earth in this simple past, with Edith and Spock beside him? He could do that. He could build a different future. Spock held the knowledge of whole libraries in his mind. They could bring Earth forward in the space race, they could reach the stars in a few years, maybe, fulfil Edith’s dreams. If he could shrug the weight of all of Earth’s and the Federation’s future from his shoulders he could do that. None of his friends or family, none of the familiar things he knew, ever would have existed. They would not be missed by the universe.

But he couldn’t. He simply had not been born the type of man to do that. He could no more do that than a tortoise could shrug out of its shell, even if it meant sacrificing himself, Spock, and Bones.

He hefted the bag a little higher under his arm, and carried on down the street. He needed to get this food back to Spock. The Vulcan was spending every minute working at the moment, either sweeping and cleaning and serving food in Edith’s mission or seated in their dingy lodgings trying to construct some kind of monumental apparatus for accessing the mnemonic memory circuits on the tricorder, which was never meant to re-display its recordings without a computer with which to interface. Spock stopped occasionally for the bathroom, and less frequently for sleep, but even when he was eating he usually had one hand fiddling with wire and capacitors.

As he passed a movie theatre Jim wondered idly if Edith would be around tonight. It would be good to spend time with her again. He considered the possibility that he was becoming infatuated with Edith, but perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps he didn’t care. There was something incredible about her, something saint-like. She was aglow with potential, with ideas, with hope in this dark era in Earth history. He could be with her for hours just talking, when with any other girl he would have been kissing and more. He wondered briefly what she would be like in bed, and then mentally chided himself. She was not like that. He was sure that she would never allow him further than chaste kisses without the sanctity of marriage about them, and of course marrying her was a ridiculous thought. They were here to leave the past untouched.

He saw Edith’s future like two twining and parting streams. She would be an incredible figure in world peace – or – she would die. Spock had found out that much, but he did not know which was the original time line and which the one altered by McCoy. He could not bear the thought of Edith dying. The doctor was ill, mad, paranoid. Of course it was that Bones had somehow caused her death. What else was there to think? He had to protect Edith at all costs, because in her rested his future.

He pushed open the door to their building and started up the stairs. His legs ached and he wanted to just flop down on his bed, but he knew that Spock would have covered it in various pieces of arcane equipment and the best he could hope for was a straight-backed chair. Part of him yearned for modern conveniences; a replicator; a coffee maker, even; a yeoman to come in and make the bed. Spock was right. This was like living in the stone age. He would be mad to even consider staying here.

As he entered their shared room he caught a glimpse of Spock darting into the corner, probably reaching for a hat.

‘It’s only me,’ he said tiredly, and Spock relaxed.

‘I should be able to reach the necessary point in the tape tonight,’ Spock said without preamble, throwing his hat down on the table. Jim had noticed him becoming progressively more irritable the more time they spent here in the past. Spock would deny the irritability, Jim knew, but it was almost as if he found this technologically under-evolved era personally offensive.

Jim looked about for somewhere to sit on the edge of the bed, then at the sight of the precariously wired tubes and bulbs thought better of it.

‘Are you going to have something to eat?’ he asked, proffering Spock the bag of food. ‘I can offer you a heady selection of bread rolls, carrots, and salad. I also found some nuts and seeds.’

Spock glanced up very briefly, and shook his head.

‘Not at this moment, Jim,’ he said, focussing intently again on his work.

Jim put the bag down with rather more force than Spock would think was logical. It _was_ illogical to be irritated at the Vulcan, but maybe he had a right to be. He had been working hard to earn the money to buy this food, and had searched five different shops to get him the nuts and seeds that would give him some much needed protein. The least Spock could do was eat it.

‘I might go out for a bit,’ he said after a moment of silence. ‘I’m disturbing you, Mr Spock.’

Spock did not even look up, but grunted a wordless reply. Fumes rose from the soldering iron in his right hand. Jim grabbed a roll and a wedge of cheese from the bag and walked out of the room.

((O))

He returned later, feeling rather less annoyed after food and a long walk through the streets. He had to be careful with every step, for fear of changing something that should not be changed, but as long as he kept to himself he rationalised that he could not do too much damage. People left him alone and he left them alone, letting darkness fall softly around him in a far more complete way than in any modern city. The street lights of this old New York City barely made a dent in the darkness compared to the lights he knew.

Spock, of course, was still working hard on his circuits, and Jim settled quietly into a chair to wait and watch.

After a time Spock seemed to come to life. There were images moving on the screen again, and he began watching them intensely. He sat silent for a moment with the images paused, then said without turning, ‘Jim, I have found what we were looking for.’

Galvanised, Jim moved forward to look over the Vulcan’s shoulder. The screen was tiny, the images black and white, but they were visible.

‘This is how history went after McCoy changed it,’ Spock told him pensively. ‘Here, in the late 1930s. A growing pacifist movement whose influence delayed the United States’ entry into the Second World War. While peace negotiations dragged on, Germany had time to complete its heavy-water experiments.’

‘Germany. Fascism. Hitler. They won the Second World War,’ Jim said dully. He could see it all there, written out on the screen. Something in his chest seemed to be falling rapidly.

‘Because all this lets them develop the A-bomb first. There’s no mistake, Captain. Let me run it again. Edith Keeler. Founder of the peace movement.’

‘But she was right,’ Jim said in a kind of agony. ‘Peace was the way.’

Spock nodded. ‘She was right, but at the wrong time. With the A-bomb, and with their V2 rockets to carry them, Germany captured the world.’

‘No.’

‘And all this because McCoy came back and somehow kept her from dying in a street accident as she was meant to.’ Spock’s voice took on an unwonted tone of urgency. ‘We must stop him, Jim.’

The world felt dull to Jim now. It seemed to have shrunk down to this small room and the tiny screen. ‘How did she die? What day?’

‘We can estimate general happenings from these images, but I can’t trace down precise actions at exact moments, Captain. I’m sorry.’

The pain felt like a knife twisting in his throat. Edith was bright, alive, beautiful in mind and spirit. It took a lot of effort to open his mouth. ‘Spock, I believe I’m in love with Edith Keeler.’

Spock was almost brutal in his directness. ‘Jim, Edith Keeler must die.’

((O))

It was later, much later, and the room was almost dark. Spock had cleared away all of his apparatus. It was not so needed now, although he might want to refer to the tricorder in the future. Jim lay hunched under his blankets, but he was not sleeping. He was aware that Spock was not sleeping either, but he didn’t give much thought to it. His mind was whirling with thoughts, possibilities, endings.

 _Edith Keeler must die_.

Those words were so straightforward. There had been no moment of hesitation in Spock’s Vulcan mind. To secure the future, Edith must die. The logic was there. It was a simple equation. In Jim’s mind it was a dance of thoughts dashing in, pulling back, one striking another out of the way. What of that thought of claiming a new future? What of saving Edith and staying here? Was it even possible to stay here, or would the Guardian pull them back the instant they committed that fatal change, leaving them to die of starvation on a dead world? What could be done?

He didn’t even know if he really did love Edith. He revered her, perhaps. He was entranced by her. He loved her mind and her smile and her words. But did he love her as a man should love a woman? In some ways she was a sexless being, chaste like a saint, full of brilliant, sexless fire. He didn’t know what to think, what to make of his feelings.

He moaned a little, the sound escaping him unwittingly. Instantly he could feel Spock galvanise.

‘Jim?’ the Vulcan asked, his bed springs creaking as he moved. ‘You are not asleep.’

Jim was silent for a moment.

‘We have an early start,’ Spock reminded him.

In that instant Jim felt like striking him for his logic, for his goddamn Vulcan insensitivity, for his callousness in the face of death. Perhaps Spock could just sleep as usual, wake up as usual, go through the motions as usual, but he, Jim – he just couldn’t.

He was out of his bed before he realised he was moving, the blanket tangled around him, adrenaline starting through his veins.

‘For God’s sake, Spock, can’t you give a moment of regret to what has to happen?’ he exploded.

Spock was up too, unfolding from his bed with perfect efficiency, his hair still in a neat crown that glinted slightly in the low light. Jim didn’t know how the Vulcan managed it. He didn’t care. He just wanted to get at him, to punish him for being the bearer of such terrible news, for remaining so blank and emotionless in the face of it. He raised his fist, and Spock caught it in his fist, his fingers hot, curling around Jim’s wrist with strength but without force.

‘Jim,’ he said softly, very quiet, very low. Just the sound of his voice was calming.

In the slight light from outside Jim could see the darkness of his eyes. His expression was soft, warm. He had seen that look in Spock before. It expressed deeper emotion than he knew that Spock would ever verbalise, and was something only those who knew the Vulcan well would see beyond his emotionless mask.

Edith’s voice echoed in his mind. _At his side, as if you've always been there and always will..._

Spock, at his side, his fingers strong and hot around his wrist. Spock was a constant, a pillar. Jim fell against him and let loose the sobs that had built up through weeks of tension, fear, worry, and loss. Spock did not put his arms around his captain but he continued to hold his wrist, his fingers loosening and gradually slipping so they were curled about Jim’s hand instead, a kind of electricity passing between their fingers, a sparking that made Jim feel as if he were falling into the Vulcan’s mind.

‘Do you love Edith Keeler?’ Spock asked after a time.

Jim was not sure if he were speaking aloud or if the words were coming through those hot fingertips into his mind.

‘I don’t know, Spock. I don’t know,’ he murmured, his face against the Vulcan’s chest still. They had no night time clothing, and Spock, like Jim, was in nothing but his fleet regulation undershirt and briefs.

‘I don’t know how to express it,’ he murmured.

The touch of Spock’s fingers changed, moved, so that Spock’s fingertips were overlaying Jim’s, and suddenly he did not need to grasp for words because he knew Spock understood that infatuation, his image of her as a sexless angel. And if Edith was an angel, then Spock was –

He felt humour bubbling in Spock’s mind at the satanic image in Jim’s head, and it transferred seamlessly into his mind, lifting him up. Humour, and – something more. There was something burning inside Spock, something driving him, some kind of force that made him concentrate every minute of every hour on rectifying this tear in time and bringing himself back – back to Jim’s side. Back there, as if he’d always been there, and always would...

Jim suddenly understood that burning heat as it leapt from Spock’s fingertips to his own. Spock’s other arm had slipped around his back and was holding him, although he had not noticed the movement. He suddenly felt that if Spock’s arm moved, if it ever moved away, he would fall and fall and never hit bottom.

Was this Spock’s mind? Was it Spock’s mind influencing his? Was it his thoughts infiltrating his own like vines growing through a broken wall?

He had his own will, didn’t he? Spock had not taken over his will.

Spock’s mind was in his. _Your will is yours entirely, Jim._

 _How – How –_ But he thought no further because Spock was leaning forward and his mouth was over Jim’s, his lips hot and dry and so needful that Jim instinctively opened his mouth and let his seeking tongue gain entry. He felt as if he were falling, not hopelessly this time, but beautifully, surrendering himself to something that he had never been aware of before but now knew that he needed more than anything else in the world.

Were those his feelings or Spock’s? It was all so mixed, so confused, he couldn’t tell, he didn’t care, his mind was on fire, his blood was on fire, he needed, needed...

He was down on the bed and Spock was over him, pulling off the thin clothes so fast that they almost tore. The blankets were in a heap on the floor and they should have been cold – Spock should have been cold – but there was fire in his mind, fire in his blood. Spock’s mouth was everywhere, tracing every line of skin, his teeth catching on the nubs of Jim’s stiffened nipples, on the sleek bulge of muscles in his arms. Somewhere Jim knew that this was wrong in this time, that if someone should come across them they would be arrested, imprisoned, maybe worse. The walls were so thin, the bathroom was a shared place down the hall, there were so many risks...

Spock’s thoughts bubbled into his own. _If they come across me that will be the least of our worries._

Spock’s mind was beautiful. Beyond the barriers it was a rich, colourful, mathematical land, fractals unwinding, so many thoughts and feelings, deep, deep feelings that reached so far they could not be grasped.

Spock growled, and the glimpse of this perfect, multi-faceted mind was replaced by fire and desire. Jim was spreadeagled on the mattress, his limbs flung wide, his head back, every nerve set alight as Spock’s mouth moved over him, across his chest, down the flatness of his stomach, into the wiry curls of hair and then over his yearning erection. He had not realised, had not known... He didn’t understand how this desire could have lain hidden so long and suddenly erupted, but it was consuming him, and he arched upward as Spock’s mouth came down, Spock’s long fingers reaching between his legs, fingernails tracing across the ridges of the tightly puckered sack, feeling the broad and exquisitely sensitive perineum, moving further down to the tight ring of muscle below...

‘Oh!’

He had not meant to gasp aloud but as Spock’s fingers teased into his opening he could not help himself. He had to stay quiet, must stay quiet. Spock’s control flowed into his mind and he found he could hold in the sound as another of Spock’s fingers joined the first, circling the muscular opening, pushing in, touching his smooth inside.

_Oh my god..._

He must not speak. He could not. Spock’s will was iron inside his own, holding it firm. The Vulcan moved away and he felt bereft, cold, left abandoned on the mattress. But then he was back again, something cupped in his hand. Jim did not know where he had got it from, perhaps from their small stock of toiletries, but there it was, oil warmed by Spock’s palm trickling down into the niche between his legs, followed by a finger, another finger, gloriously slick. Little thrills of fear vied with delight and were pushed aside as those long fingers explored the opening, stretched it, touched him where he had never been touched before.

And then the fingers withdraw and were replaced with a rod of heat, soft and yet firm and hard as it entered, slipping in full length as Spock came down over him, his hands on Jim’s shoulders now, holding him still, his lips coming down to make fiery contact again with Jim’s own, stifling the need to cry out.

He had never felt such exquisite pleasure before as that pleasure as the length of Spock’s penis slipped fully into his body, pulled out again almost to the point of leaving, slipped back again fully to glide across his prostate, causing waves of exquisite sensation to flow out through his pelvis, along his own erection, into his stomach. He was falling into a joyous void where the bed, the room, everything around him slipped away and there was only him and the feeling of Spock in him and over him, Spock’s furred belly rubbing against the rock hard length of his erection. He wanted to scream aloud, and Spock’s control came over him and held him and kept him silent. Spock’s hands were over his, pressing them down into the mattress, dominating him entirely as his firm, lean body kept rocking back and forth, pushing his hardness into Jim’s soft, receptive body, bringing him closer and closer to an explosion of delight.

It came at once, his and Spock’s climax exploding in unison, sticky fluid erupting between their bellies and hot jets streaking into the depths of Jim’s body. Spock’s control faltered and Jim cried out aloud, his cry sudden and startling in the silent darkness of the room. Spock’s mouth came over his again, the Vulcan murmuring, ‘Shh, my love, shh, my _t’hy’la_ , shh, my golden boy...’

Tears came then, he did not know where from, and the Vulcan lay down over him, hot and heavy, holding Jim as he cried into the Vulcan’s shoulder which was slicked with sweat from Jim’s body. He could feel Spock’s erection waning, slippery fluid leaching from the cavity left behind. This had been too good, too perfect, and he could hardly understand how it had happened and why now he felt such a loss, as if he had seen the face of god and was to be denied it for ever more.

‘No,’ Spock murmured, ‘No, my Jim. At your side always and forever. You will never be abandoned.’

‘Edith,’ Jim murmured, understanding now, as if his eyes had been wrenched open to the truth.

‘You cannot save her,’ Spock murmured in his ear.

‘No,’ Jim replied, his voice almost incoherent. ‘No, no saving Edith.’

She was a vision, an angel, something he could not have and never would. But here was Spock. Spock, real, hot, loving, fully here for him. Spock, filling that aching void. Edith was someone to be put on a pedestal, to be watched from afar. He would never be able to have her. But here was Spock, as bright – no, brighter, beautiful, more articulate, possessed of more brilliance. Here was Spock with him, at his side, always there, always going to be there.

The future was hollow. He could barely imagine what might happen, how it would be to go through Edith’s death and step back into his own world, or to fail and be left here. But there was Spock. There was always Spock, and that was all that he needed.


End file.
